Chapter 3

Three days.

Three days without a proper meal. Three days without decent sleep. I sat at the kitchen's marble counter, staring at the cup of coffee in my hands, now cold, my stomach churning violently.

The divorce papers lay spread out on the table, announcing the end of twenty-two years of my life. No, not just the end of a marriage—the collapse of my entire world.

Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea hit me.

I didn't even make it to the sink before collapsing to my knees. Blood mixed with bile erupted from my mouth, splattering across the white marble floor, a shocking crimson against the pristine surface.

Wave after wave, my body seemed determined to expel every ounce of life force. My hands pressed against the cold floor, nails scraping against the tiles.

Is this what dying feels like?

I had imagined death many times. In a hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and tears. Or at home, with Ethan holding my hand, whispering words of love.

Not like this. Not kneeling in a pool of my own blood, as lonely as an abandoned animal.

My vision blurred. The ceiling lights transformed into halos, spinning before my eyes. I tried to call out, but my throat could only produce a raspy sound.

Then, darkness.

When I woke, the sunset was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was still lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold marble, the blood around me dried and blackened.

The house was terrifyingly quiet.

He really left me here to die.

I struggled to sit up, nearly collapsing again from dizziness. The wall clock showed 6 PM. How long had I been unconscious? Four hours? Six?

If I had died right here, would anyone have found me? The cleaning service wouldn't come until next Tuesday, and the lawyer wouldn't contact me for another month... I might have rotted here for a long, long time.

The thought sent a chill through me.

I couldn't die like this. At least, not so unprepared.

Early the next morning, I called the bank and scheduled an afternoon meeting. My voice sounded unfamiliar, raspy over the phone.

"I need to update my account information," I told the manager.

The Wells Fargo branch was heavily air-conditioned. I sat across from the manager in my most formal suit, the documents in my hands rustling from my trembling.

"Are you feeling alright, Mrs. Rivers?" the young manager asked, concerned about my pallid complexion.

"I'm fine." I forced a smile. "Just need to make sure everything is in order."

Transfer authorizations, beneficiary changes, automatic payment setups... I went through each item I never thought I'd need to handle. Grace Haven Orphanage, cancer research foundations, and several charities we had supported together over the years.

If Ethan decided to cut funding to the orphanage, at least my money could keep them going for a few more years.

From the bank, I drove straight to Hillside Memorial Park.

The cemetery was quiet, with only the distant sound of lawnmowers and occasional birdsong. The sales representative was a middle-aged woman in a black business suit, her face wearing professional sympathy.

"This section has a beautiful view of the valley," she said gently, pointing to a south-facing slope. "Very peaceful."

I stood there, imagining myself lying beneath this soil. Would anyone visit me? Would anyone remember me?

"Are you sure you want to handle this alone, ma'am?" the saleswoman asked softly. "Most people prefer to have family present for these decisions."

I smiled bitterly. "There's no one else left."

Her expression grew even more sympathetic. I signed my name and paid the deposit. One burial plot, twenty-five thousand dollars. Probably the most expensive yet cheapest purchase of my life.

My final stop was the law office. Old Richard had been our family lawyer for over a decade. When he saw me walk into his office alone, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Mrs. Rivers, perhaps you should have family present for will preparation..." he suggested.

"I don't have family anymore."

The words surprised even me as they left my mouth. Such a simple sentence, yet it declared the end of every significant relationship in my life.

Richard was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Let's proceed then."

My hand trembled uncontrollably as I signed, the pen leaving shaky marks on the paper. These documents would take effect after my death, distributing everything I had to those who truly needed it.

At least my death could have some meaning.

It was already evening when I returned home. I collapsed onto the living room sofa—that Italian leather couch we had picked out together in Beverly Hills. I remembered how Ethan had insisted on getting the best: "My wife deserves the finest things in the world."

Now, this expensive sofa held a dying, abandoned woman.

On the coffee table sat a small pill box containing ordinary cold medicine. For some reason, the sight of it triggered unstoppable tears.

A memory from when I was fifteen flashed before me...

Snowflakes were falling outside the windows of Grace Haven as I lay in bed, delirious with fever. Ethan sat beside me, his forehead creased with worry.

"Lily-pad, you're burning up." His hand gently stroked my forehead, cool and comforting. "Should I get Mama Margaret?"

"Don't leave me, Ethan." I weakly grabbed his hand. "I'm scared."

His eyes were filled with concern. "I'll never leave you. I promise."

He sat there all night, checking my forehead every half hour, giving me water, changing the cool cloth on my head. When I woke the next morning, he had fallen asleep leaning against my bed, still holding my hand tightly.

And that time when he injured his knee...

Fourteen-year-old Ethan had fallen from a tree, his knee scraped raw and bloody. He bit his lip to keep from crying, but I could see he was in pain.

"Does it hurt? I'll be gentle." I carefully cleaned his wound, terrified of causing him more pain.

He watched me with a tenderness in his eyes that I couldn't understand at the time. "You take such good care of me, Lily."

"Because I love you," I said matter-of-factly. "We're family."

"Forever?" he asked.

"Forever."

Where had that boy gone? The one who promised never to leave me?

How could the person who once stayed up all night for my simple cold now remain unmoved as I vomited blood?

I clutched a throw pillow tightly, letting my tears flow freely. Perhaps the person I loved had died long ago. Perhaps I had only been loving a shadow that no longer existed.

My phone rang for a long time before I found the courage to answer.

"Hello, Ethan."

"Lily." His voice carried impatience. "I hope you're calling because you've signed the papers."

"Give Mama Margaret five million dollars," I said calmly, "and double Grace Haven's monthly funding."

Silence on the other end for a few seconds. "What?"

"You heard me. Five million dollars, cash, and you need to guarantee that Grace Haven's monthly support is doubled. Permanently."

"Lily, aren't you being a bit too greedy?" His tone turned sharp.

I laughed coldly. "Greedy? I'm just making sure those children don't go hungry because of our divorce. You call that greed?"

"Lily—"

"You have one day to decide." I cut him off. "Agree, and I'll sign. Refuse, and I'll tell the whole world about Victoria. Let's see what your fans think about that."

"You're threatening me now?"

"I'm protecting the only family I have left."

Another silence. Then his voice turned ice-cold: "Fine. But after this, we're done. Completely."

I looked out at the Malibu ocean view, the sunset we had watched countless times together.

"Goodbye, Ethan," I said softly. "Forever this time."

I hung up and turned off my phone.

From now on, I was no longer Ethan Moore's wife. I was no longer anyone's anything.

I was just Lily, a woman about to die.

But at least I still had my dignity.